


you can always be found

by CutiePi



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Character Study, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Found Family, Gen, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, SORRY SOTHIS FOR FORGETTING TO TAG YOU INITIALLY, Spoilers for Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), The Great Fódlan Bakeoff (Fire Emblem), also Byleth is a ta instead of a professor, i dont want that weird shit!, my eagles agenda really shows in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:20:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26446243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CutiePi/pseuds/CutiePi
Summary: Byleth goes to Garreg Mach Monastery, and somehow finds a home.
Relationships: Black Eagles Students & My Unit | Byleth, Edelgard von Hresvelg & My Unit | Byleth, Jeralt Reus Eisner & My Unit | Byleth, My Unit | Byleth & Sothis
Comments: 9
Kudos: 35





	you can always be found

**Author's Note:**

> here's my bakeoff piece! i decided to do a byleth-centric fic, despite having never written byleth before lol. but here we are! giving it a try!
> 
> featuring:  
> -nonbinary byleth!  
> -dad bonding!  
> -found family!  
> -byleth as a teaching assistant!  
> -my intense, undying love for the black eagles!  
> and more, probably.
> 
> as the tags say, this spoils all of part 1, but none of part 2. so if you've played part 1 before, no worries. enjoy!

Byleth is a weird kid.

This is what they’ve been told, anyway. Late nights around the fire, they’ll sit at their father’s side, wrapped in his oversized coat, and stare blankly at the drinking and merriment around them, and one of the mercenaries will gesture to them with their sloshing bottle of beer and say, “You’ve got a weird fuckin’ kid, Captain.”

And Jeralt, always, waves them off and cusses them out and pulls Byleth closer to his side, pulls the coat they’re wearing like a blanket tight around their shoulders. When he carries them to bed – whether bed is a sleeping bag and a pile of blankets on the ground or an actual bed in an inn – he tucks them in tight and says, “They don’t mean anything by it, kiddo. Everyone here loves you, really. They just don’t understand you.”

Byleth peers up at him. They’ve heard, from people in towns and from Jeralt’s mercenaries, that their stare is creepy and haunting, that they’ve got big eyes that stare straight into people’s souls. It might be true, a little – they know, even without being told, that the mercenaries care about them, just like they understand what Jeralt means by patiently explaining the others don’t understand Byleth. Still, they ask, in their toneless, lilting voice, “Am I weird?”

Jeralt smiles and ruffles their hair and promises, “Nah, kiddo. You don’t show emotion much, but that’s alright.” Byleth isn’t sure that’s true, but they nod anyway. They know they don’t show emotion, but they never saw the point in it. They barely feel much anyway. They don’t feel sad or disappointed that people don’t understand them; they know it’s true, so why be upset to hear it?

“Okay,” they say. “Good night.” And Jeralt leans down and kisses their forehead, and Byleth rolls onto their side and slips easily into dreams about places they’ve never seen and girls their age with waves of green hair.

* * *

Byleth wakes up early in the mornings, before dawn. They like the quiet, as much as they like anything. They like the soft  _ clomp _ of their boots as they make their way past sleeping mercenaries. They like walking through the silent village, seeing the fresh dew, feeling the nip of cool morning air. They like the way their fishing rod feels nestled against their shoulder.

They really like fishing, the quiet calm of casting and reeling and catching, and they like the cheers of the mercenaries when they return with enough fish to feed the lot of them, and the way Jeralt smiles at them encouragingly, ruffles their hair, and says, “Good job, kid.”

This morning, though, the sky is still pale gray and sunless and Byleth is still waiting for a bite when they hear the quiet tread of boots in the dirt. They don’t start or flinch as Jeralt settles in beside them, and he laughs softly and says, “You should keep an ear out, kid. I could’ve been a bandit here for your fish.”

“You weren’t,” Byleth says simply. “Your footsteps always sound the same. And I can share my fish.” Jeralt chuckles, and then they simply sit together in silence as Byleth fishes, only occasionally interrupted by Jeralt murmuring, “Nice catch.”

The light grows, and at length Jeralt says, “Look, By. Check out that sunrise.” Byleth, accordingly, looks up as pink creeps into the sky and the sun casts a pale yellow glow across the hills and the trees and the river. “Pretty, huh? I swear they’re better in Remire than anywhere else.”

Byleth watches the sunrise for a few silent moments, until a tug on their line draws their attention back to the river. “I don’t think that’s possible,” they say simply, because surely the sunrise looks the same everywhere, pretty much. 

Jeralt just laughs softly and says, “Maybe. But you like this place, don’t you?”

Byleth tilts their head, thoughtful. They like early mornings and fishing and warm beds, but do they really care that they’re getting all these things in Remire, instead of anywhere else? Probably not – they don’t see what could make this particular village so special. “It’s fine,” they say, and then, after a moment of thought, add, “There’s not a lot of work for mercenaries.”

Jeralt grunts his acknowledgement. Another few moments of silence pass as Byleth reels in another fish – a bullhead – and then re-baits and casts their line. Finally, he says, “There’s not. But there’s lives. Farming. Fishing. Other kinds of work.” He sighs. “The others like it here. It’s not a bad place to call home, is it?”

Byleth looks over at him. He seems… not quite nervous, maybe. But something close to it. They say, “But we’re mercenaries.”

“And you’re a damn good one, kid,” Jeralt assures them. Byleth doesn’t understand – does he think they’re upset? They’re not. Not at all. If anything, they’re only confused. “But you’re not so bad at fishing, right? You can do plenty of that. Maybe make a living off it.”

Byleth looks back at the shimmering waters of the river. The light dances off it as the sun slowly climbs higher in the sky. Finally, they shrug. “Maybe,” they agree, because yes, maybe they could make a living off fishing. But why should they? They’re a mercenary.

“By,” Jeralt says, seriously. Byleth cocks their head toward him, to show they’re listening. “I think it’d be nice to settle here. Maybe take fewer jobs. Let everyone build themselves lives.” He sighs, weary. “Let you build yourself a life. You don’t know how much I worry I took that chance away from you.”

Byleth’s brow furrows incrementally. Jeralt gave them a life, literally and figuratively. He’s the reason they ever bothered talking to people, or learning things, or any of that. And there’s another thing they like – helping people. They like when people smile at them with their eyes full of gratitude and relief. It makes Byleth’s chest feel warm and light. They get to help people as a mercenary, and that’s an ability Jeralt gave them.

They think harder, though, about help, about that relieved smile, and they think: if they want to help Jeralt, they should agree to stay in Remire, because Jeralt thinks staying in Remire would help the other mercenaries, too, so he’ll be happy if Byleth says  _ they’ll _ be happy. It’s all very complicated. But they still know what the right choice is, so they say, “The townspeople will be happy if we stick around.”

Jeralt’s face, predictably, relaxes into that grateful smile. “They will. And we won’t settle down forever, kid. There’s still work to be done, and we’ll still do it. This is just a good place to come home to.”

Home, for Byleth, has always been Jeralt’s warm coat and a circle of mercenaries around a fire. As far as they’re concerned, those things will still be there in Remire.

The two of them remain silent as Byleth catches fish and the sun rises.

* * *

Byleth’s day has involved a green-haired girl on a throne yelling at them, a group of knights revealing pieces of their father’s past, and saving the lives of three young students. As Remire Village disappears behind them, Byleth studies the girl they’d nearly died for and feels an odd sensation in their chest, a connection, an urge to protect.

They think they should stay by her side.

* * *

Archbishop Rhea is familiar and off putting all at once, but she smiles at Byleth even as they stare blankly back at them, and she calls them “child” like Jeralt calls them “kid”, and if Jeralt was too worried, he’d have them leave the monastery. So she can’t be all that bad. She’s patient as she explains that Byleth will be helping out around the Officer’s Academy.

“You should meet the students,” she says. Her voice is warm, but Byleth can’t instinctively understand her the way they understand everyone else. She’s a mystery to them. “Once you’ve been introduced to them all, you can decide on a house to assist for the year.”

The students of the Officer’s Academy all tend towards loudness and excitability and curiosity. They stare at Byleth, their gazes heavy with expectation even as they all ask who they are and what they’re doing at Garreg Mach. Still, Byleth meets each and every one of them, doesn’t shy away from their calculating looks, and when it’s done they talk to the house leaders. Claude pitches the Golden Deer as laidback and fun, and Dimitri painfully explains that the Blue Lions make for great company, once you get to know them. Edelgard, on the other hand, is blunt and brief about her classmates.

Byleth sits across from her in the reception hall as she explains, “Bernadetta won’t want to come to class, I’m afraid. She doesn’t do well with new people – or, well,  _ any _ people. But I’ll ensure she attends lectures, so you won’t have to worry about her yourself.” Byleth appreciates her honesty; they’d gotten the sense the other two house leaders were working very hard to make sure they had the best impression of each class possible. Edelgard doesn’t shy away from Hubert’s overprotectiveness, Linhardt’s lack of motivation, Bernadetta’s shyness. It makes her nice to be around; Byleth doesn’t have to guess like they do with Rhea.

“Do you think I should help with your class?” they ask simply. Edelgard tilts her head, looking at them carefully.

“I think,” she says finally, “you could be just as happy in the Golden Deer or the Blue Lions. But you saved my life.” She looks down at her hands, folded against the table in their pristine white gloves. “I owe you for that. And I think you could do great things for the Black Eagles. I think a lot of us would welcome the extra guidance.”

It isn’t that difficult a choice, in the end. Something about Edelgard calls to Byleth in a way they want to explore, and besides: the Black Eagles need their help.

* * *

Manuela is the Black Eagles’ professor, which means she’s Byleth’s boss. When she tells them to practice with the students for the mock battle, they practice. When she tells them to tutor them after lecture in their areas of study, they hunt down the students and tutor. And when she tells them to bond with the kids…

Byleth hasn’t figured out how to follow that order just yet.

“Try  _ talking _ to them,” Manuela says, exasperated, when Byleth comes to her office (the infirmary, technically) to report their failure. “Didn’t you bond with those mercenaries you grew up with? How did you manage that?”

Byleth thinks on that enigma. They’re pretty certain their students wouldn’t be all that excited if they gave them fish. “I’m not sure that applies, ser,” they say.

Manuela sighs, putting her head in her hands; Byleth thinks she mutters something to herself before she looks at them and says, “Eat with them, train with them, spend time with them.” Byleth opens their mouth to explain they’ve been doing all those things, but Manuela cuts them off. “ _ Talk _ to them. Try to get to know them. Maybe…” She goes digging around in her desk drawers and pulls out the class roster. “Ah! There. Ferdinand’s birthday is coming up. Why don’t you get him a birthday present?”

“A birthday present?” they echo. They’ve never really celebrated birthdays; they’re not even sure how old they are. And presents… Jeralt never gave them presents, beyond clothes and food and weapons and fishing rods, and those were all practicalities. Byleth’s never wanted anything beyond that. They don’t think Ferdinand would mind a gift of armor or weapons – although they suppose they’ve already started giving weapons to the other students in preparation for the mock battle, so it might be upsetting to get one as a birthday present instead.

A voice in their head crows,  _ Those are terrible presents! Is that really the best you can come up with? _ Byleth’s brow furrows, just a bit; ever since that strange dream with that strange girl, they’ve had to contend with an uncharacteristically rude voice in their head.  _ Oh, I’ll show you rude! Think, now. Surely you must’ve received  _ something _ nice in your life. _ Byleth ponders the possibility. Thinking back on it, there were a few times the mercenaries, unable to tempt them with toys or books, brought them pretty flowers as souvenirs. And Garreg Mach has a whole greenhouse full of blooms.  _ Yes! Much better, _ the voice says, sounding satisfied.  _ A gift of flowers will suffice. _

On Ferdinand’s birthday, Byleth presents him with a large, sloppily arranged bouquet of flowers. The greenhouse keeper lectures them for picking the flowers without asking, but Ferdinand glows with joy and keeps the bouquet in his room, and the voice in Byleth’s head murmurs,  _ Not a bad start. _

* * *

Somehow, they settle into life at Garreg Mach.

The students are, mostly, kind, and eager to speak with them, and Byleth manages to connect to them over meals, study sessions, and tea. Sothis is kind, too, as long as they’re properly respectful, and her constant presence becomes soothing and instinctive. They find out about their Crest, and then about Edelgard’s, her second, secret one, likely the source of that sense of kinship. They wield their Relic as naturally their fishing rod; holding it in their hands, they feel more complete. They pick up Manuela’s slack, when her head aches too much to lecture, and later they pick up Jeritza’s slack, too, after his disappearance, spending more time at the training grounds than they ever have before. On their free days, while Manuela hides away grading schoolwork, they wander the monastery grounds, fishing and gardening and practicing their floristry.

Slowly, Garreg Mach becomes home, and Jeralt smiles softly at Byleth and says, “You’re doing well for yourself, kiddo. You seem happy.” And Byleth didn’t really understand happiness before, but they think they do now, and they are. They are happy.

But Sothis isn’t satisfied, not entirely. There are two figures she constantly eyes with distrust, and when Byleth speaks to either of them, they feel her perk up, watching carefully. Byleth shares her concern for one of the individuals – Rhea. Rhea is warm and kind and soft-spoken – given she’s speaking to Byleth, of course. But she also sends children to move against heretics and orders public executions. Byleth often feels adrift around her, troubled and confused by her presence. It doesn’t help in the slightest that they can’t read her, can’t understand her intentions or motivations. She’s keeping secrets, to be certain – but what secrets, they don’t know, and that disturbs them as much as it disturbs Sothis.

The other figure of suspicion, in Sothis’s mind, is Edelgard.

Byleth understands, to an extent. Edelgard is hiding something, to be sure, and she keeps making ominous comments suggesting she knows more than she’s letting on. Where the other students spend their time chattering and playing, Edelgard watches her classmates with a calculating look, and lingers in corners speaking to Hubert in hushed tones. The other Eagles are preparing for lives of luxury, and Edelgard seems to be preparing for a grim future.

But.

When Edelgard smiles at Byleth, it is steady and sincere. When she vocalizes her pride in her classmates after a job well done, she is being totally honest. When Byleth praises her for her work in tutoring sessions, she lights up.

Edelgard is a liar, yes. But not a very good one. Byleth still notices how she softens when she speaks to Bernadetta, how she views Dorothea as an equal, how she treats Petra with careful respect. They notice when she humors Ferdinand’s competitive streak, pushes Linhardt with well-intentioned insistence, or admires Caspar’s work ethic. She could not more obviously care about her classmates, and that means something, because for all her plans and secrets – and she has them, Byleth can tell she does – she cannot be cruel and calculating the way she wishes to be.

So they trust Edelgard, even as she hoards secrets, not because she also opens up but because she is one of Byleth’s students.

Byleth trusts their students. Sothis scoffs a reminder that they hold great power, children or not, but she begrudgingly trusts her, too.

* * *

Byleth’s second home was Remire Village, for all they hesitated to settle there. Over time, they came to appreciate the familiarity of it, the certainty of each day. And the townsfolk may have found them weird, just like Jeralt’s mercenaries did, once, but they still treated Byleth with kindness.

Staring at the burning remains of the village, there’s a strange ache in their chest, and it’s not from inhaling the smoke. Sothis murmurs, gently,  _ You can cry, if you wish. This was your home, was it not? _ It was, but they still shake their head; they’ve never cried before, and even now, they do not feel the urge. But perhaps that is the name for the pain in their chest – sadness.  _ It is, _ Sothis says. She certainly sounds sad.  _ I truly believe it is. _

“Uh, Byleth?” They feel a tug at their sleeve and look down at Caspar, who’s looking at them with obvious concern. “Hey, I’m… I’m sorry we didn’t make it in time. But…” He steels his face, brow furrowing in determination, and his voice is low and angry as he says, “We’re gonna get the guys who did this, right? Jeritza, and Tomas or  _ whatever _ his real name is – they better watch out. ‘Cause we’re getting revenge for everyone who lost their home here. Right?”

Byleth stares at him for a moment, and then, somehow, they find it in them to smile. “Right,” they agree. “We’ll make sure this never happens again.”

Caspar beams up at them. “Yeah we will!” he hoots. “C’mon, your father says we have to head back.” Byleth lets him take their hand and lead them back to the others, and Jeralt claps them on the shoulder and rubs it soothingly, and as the class sets off for Garreg Mach, Byleth feels a new sensation, a unique determination, a fire in their heart. Revenge. Yes, they’ll have to get revenge.

* * *

Barely a month later, after a night of festivities and dancing, Byleth loses their first home.

For the first time in their life, they cry, and they lock themself in their room and lose track of the days.

* * *

Byleth takes a few visitors during their solitude. Dorothea brings them flowers, and sketches of those flowers drawn by Bernadetta. Ferdinand insists on serving them tea. Mercedes and Annette bring them cookies and pastries that they barely touch. Mostly, though, they cry, as if to make up for decades of stoicism, and Sothis manifests beside them and strokes their hair as they do. They feel her pain, too, the way her heart aches for comfort, but Byleth has no comfort to offer.

Another day sees another knock at their door, and when they answer it, Petra is on the other side. She doesn’t have gifts or food, like every other visitor they’ve had, and they find they have no choice but to let her in and hear what she has to say.

She wastes no time. “Byleth,” she says, “I have sorrow for the loss of your father. It is a great… a great unfairness.” 

Byleth just half-nods in agreement; they’ve heard this all before, and have little ability to hear it again. Petra clears her throat. “But!” she says sharply, cutting through the fog of misery around them. They look up at her, and there’s a fire in her eyes. “You cannot be stopping now. It is hard to be moving forward, yes. But you are our teacher, and our guide.” Byleth blinks. “We have great faith in you, all of us. And we… no, I am believing that you have the strength, the  _ courage _ , to carry on.”

Byleth just stares at her in silence for a moment. Strength? They aren’t sure how strong they are. They couldn’t save Remire, they couldn’t save  _ Jeralt _ … There’s a horrible pain in their chest; it hurts and hurts and  _ hurts _ . They may not even be able to protect their students against the unjust terrors of the world. “I can’t,” they rasp; their voice is hoarse, rusty with disuse.

Petra’s expression smooths into something gentler, kinder. She takes their hand in between hers and smiles at them reassuringly. “I have understanding of your pain,” she says quietly. “I… As a child, I lost my father, as well. To war.” She swallows heavily, as if the memory pains her even now. “It is a terrible loss. Even now, I miss him greatly. But…” She looks Byleth straight in the eyes, that determination once again written across her features. “My father believed I could be strong. He had faith in me. So I must protect what he was wishing to protect – I must lead Brigid as he once would have. And when I am feeling weak… when the pain becomes difficult to bear…” Petra’s eyes slip shut, and she takes a breath, as if steadying herself. When she opens them, they shine with emotion. “I am remembering that my father had no doubts about me. I cannot trust myself, but I must have trust in him. So you must be trusting your father, as well.”

Byleth stares at her for a moment, speechless. They knew bits and pieces of her past, but they never realized the extent of her struggles until now. She had to be incredibly strong to persevere through her past – they realize that now, having experienced the same loss. And she’s not the only one. All their students have faced immense hardship, and yet they remain resilient.

Byleth has worked so hard to ensure the Eagles could learn from them. Perhaps it’s time they took a lesson from their students.

_ That’s it, _ Sothis reassures them.  _ Back on your feet. Back to work! _

There is work to do, but first: Byleth opens their arms, and Petra wraps them in a tight hug.

* * *

Since their arrival at the monastery, Byleth’s chief mission, above all else, has been to care for the students. That meant shooing Hubert to bed when the circles beneath his eyes became too pronounced, bringing Bernadetta meals when the thought of leaving her room paralyzed her, moving Linhardt to the back of the formation when blood made him queasy, wrapping Caspar’s and Petra’s knuckles after hours of training, even taking time to attend choir practice to watch Dorothea and remembering to praise Ferdinand after he answered a question correctly. Somehow, amidst the chaos of the past year, caring for the Eagles had become second-nature, an instinct they easily followed.

So when Rhea stands beside them and orders them to execute Edelgard, Byleth stares at her, a girl in oversized armor with fear in her eyes, and they think of a year spent instructing and guiding and trusting her.

Byleth is a mercenary, and they follow orders. Their  _ father _ followed Rhea’s orders, even when he doubted her. And Sothis, what remains distinctly  _ her _ even now that they’ve merged, recognizes Rhea, reaches for her with the same pull that once drew Byleth to Edelgard. Being a mercenary also means knowing the safest route, and if they weren’t certain before, they know now – Rhea is powerful, and dangerous, and not a force any mercenary could ever choose to fight. Turning on her would put Byleth in danger, and it might even endanger their students, too.

They can imagine Sothis chiding them, saying,  _ If you’ve made your choice, hurry up and act on it! _ And of course Byleth’s made their choice; there was only ever one choice to make.

After all, their first priority is to protect their students.

Byleth steps in front of Edelgard, brandishing their Relic at Rhea, and their worst fears are immediately confirmed as Rhea shifts into a giant scaly  _ monster _ , and yet even as they flee with their students, even as the Adrestian Empire declares war against the most powerful institution in Fodlan, Byleth knows they’ve made the right choice.

* * *

_ I have a proposition. _

“Tomorrow was supposed to be the Millennium Festival, but who’s got time to think about things like that?”

“The Millennium Festival…” Byleth murmurs hoarsely. Their head is pounding, and they’re so tired…

_ Let’s all agree to meet back at the monastery exactly five years from today. _

“I doubt there’s a soul to be found who has enough blessings worth counting,” the villager is saying.

Byleth frowns. Five years… They certainly feel like they’ve slept for five years. Their hair never stopped growing, all that time, and it drags on the ground behind them. Perhaps that is why their head is so heavy.

_ Like a class reunion? _

Something sparks in Byleth’s chest. A reunion… they’d promised…

“Where do you think you’re going?”

It’s been five long years of slumber, but they’ll return now, because they promised.

“My students are waiting for me,” they say, and then they go.

Back to Garreg Mach Monastery. Back home.

Back to their family.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! leave a comment, if you liked it, because comments fuel my ability to summon words from the ether. fun!
> 
> i'm [@cutestofpis](https://twitter.com/cutestofpis) on twitter, come give me a follow
> 
> most importantly, have an AMAZING day!


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